


good governance

by Kisatsel



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Era, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hamilton.” The general does not sound displeased. “It has been a great relief to me to have you here working on my behalf. I hope you will not wear yourself out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	good governance

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my contribution to the fledgling genre of 'Hamilton giving head'. Basically I wrote this after spending a lot of time staring at this super inspiring [softer world remix](http://asofterroomwhereithappens.tumblr.com/post/130493061161/and-i-do-push-his-buttons). Honestly though this kind of came out of nowhere, hahaha, what is even happening!! I really don't know but I am so happy to have ended up here.

Scratching furiously at a paragraph which contains far too much invective and far too little sense, Alexander doesn’t hear the deliberate steps approaching. Only when a shadow falls over the desk does he look up to see his general standing before him. 

“Sir.”

“Hamilton. It’s late.” 

“Yes. I’ve drafted a response to congress, sir; they remain as unhelpful as ever but I have laid out some particulars of the situation in the hope that they will come to understand the urgency of our need,” Alexander says, aware that bitterness is bleeding into his speech but helpless to prevent it. 

Washington flicks through the sheaf of papers crowding the desk, nods. “The troops hold their discipline well enough, but I can sense their frustration.” 

And shares it, perhaps. Washington is as composed as ever, but in the flickering candlelight, weariness is visible in the lines of his face. 

“Yes, I will have the letter sent out tomorrow sir, but it won’t be enough!” Alexander says angrily. He shuts his mouth and scowls: he will save his disobedient outbursts for when it really matters. 

“Hamilton.” The general does not sound displeased. “It has been a great relief to me to have you here working on my behalf. I hope you will not wear yourself out.”

“I could hardly do so sitting at a desk all day, sir,” Alexander says. A joking tone, the disappointment behind it hopelessly evident. 

Washington places a hand on Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander trembles involuntarily before he masters himself; perhaps writing all day has caused taxed him somewhat after all. He meets the general’s eyes. 

“I remember when I was your age. Full of passion for my country, for my fellow men. But all the same, it was lonely sometimes. The soldier’s life is not an easy one.” Washington’s hand is still resting on Alexander’s shoulder, a deliberate weight. It seems to impart a little of the general’s implacable strength into Alexander himself, strengthening the resolve in his heart to give all that he has to this fight. There is a curious, tangible quality to the stillness, very different to the usual quiet of the room where Hamilton sits and writes late into the night. 

One finger moves slowly to rub over Alexander’s neck, and a warmth stirs in his chest at the sensation. Just a light touch, but from the general a shocking intimacy. Alexander yearns to lean into towards the arm. He lifts his chin slowly, fighting to control the wave of want that washes over him. 

Washington’s eyes are stern but kind and Hamilton can hardly believe the truth he read there, that this is really on offer. “Perhaps I have misunderstood,” Washington continues. “If you wish, you may retire now.” 

“No, sir,” Alexander says, pushing his chair back and scrambling hurriedly to his feet. “I’ll stay, sir.” Washington pinches out the candle and takes Hamilton’s arm, leading him through to the adjacent chamber. 

Once inside the chamber, Washington removes his coat and drapes it over a chair, then turns to face Hamilton. Alexander has allowed himself to picture this, lying awake and thrumming with agitation after being refused a command yet again by Washington. He knows exactly how it should go. He sinks to his knees, noting with satisfaction Washington’s slight intake of breath as Alexander shuffles forwards.

All he knows of pleasing a man in this way is Eliza’s mouth on him and her kind, teasing eyes, but surely it cannot be too difficult. Washington is large, but luckily Hamilton has never been one to back down from a challenge. He tugs Washington’s breeches downwards and takes his cock in his mouth.

The first taste stokes his hunger higher and he slides down as far as he can until he finds himself choking and pulls off hurriedly. Alexander ignores the flush which he can feel staining his cheeks; he must take care with his as he does with all of the tasks he undertakes for his general. He lowers his mouth again, more carefully this time, and gradually allows his throat to open up. 

The general has brought one broad hand down to rest on Alexander’s head, exerting a gentle pressure. Hamilton’s mind and senses are blissfully empty of anything but Washington as he relaxes into his task. The hand tightens in his hair, holding him still, and Washington starts to rock slowly upwards into Alexander’s mouth so that he is pinned with no option but to take it as best he can. He breathes shallowly through his nose and clutches onto Washington’s legs. Alexander’s jaw and knees ache, his cock is pressing against his breeches, but these discomforts are transmuted into a peculiar contentment. It is an indulgence granted him, to suck George Washington off in this dim little room. 

The pressure relents and then Hamilton is pushed backwards a little. One hand strokes over his cheek. Alexander presses his face clumsily to Washington’s smooth belly, the slight prick of tears stinging his eyes. He kisses the skin just above the thatch of hair, and continues along this trajectory to nuzzle at the base of Washington’s cock. 

Alexander keeps his eyes closed as he rests his forehead against Washington’s waist. He doesn’t know if he can stand to meet the general’s implacable gaze, awash with the knowledge that Washington must have been aware of this all along, had intuited that it would take little more than mild urging from his commander for Hamilton to be here on his knees, greedy for it, desperate. Ravenous.

Washington tugs sharply at Alexander’s hair until he tilts his face up obediently. Washington is a little flushed; he is smiling down with satisfaction. 

“You take that very well, Hamilton.” 

Alexander’s blood sings at the praise. “I could take more,” he says, panting slightly. 

Washington pushes Alexander back towards his cock. Alexander eagerly sinks down as far as he can. Washington presses harder, holding Hamilton down and keeping him there. Alexander moans, the sound muffled by the length filling his throat. His head is growing dizzy from lack of air and he notes distantly the tightness in his chest as he drifts into a blissful daze.

Washington lets him up again for a few seconds and Alexander gasps in air. “Will you swallow?” Washington says, in the tone which he uses for requests which should be interpreted as orders. Alexander groans his assent. It only takes a few seconds before Washington comes, flooding Alexander’s mouth and throat with the bitter taste. Alexander swallows rapidly and then sucks gently on the head, reluctantly pulling off as Washington softens. Alexander is wiping the back of his hand across his face and chasing his the taste across his lips with his tongue when Washington pulls him up by the cloth of his waistcoat and steers him so that his back is against the wall. 

Washington is built strongly with broad shoulders, half a head taller than Hamilton, who still has a hint of the underfed orphan boy in his wiry frame, so that it takes little effort for Washington to keep him pinned against the wall with the bulk of his body. 

Now that Alexander’s mouth is no longer occupied, he finds that words won’t stop spilling out: “Touch me, please, sir I need you to – your hand—.” Washington deftly undoes his breeches and wraps a hand around Alexander. His hips buck upwards involuntarily. Washington sets a fast pace, jerking him efficiently. Washington’s hand is dry but Alexander’s cock has been leaking since the moment he got his mouth on Washington and the rough edge to the strokes only increases his desperation. 

Washington takes his hand away; Alexander moans, his hands clutching restlessly at the general who, it turns out, is pulling a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket. Washington eyes him. “Is there something you need, Alexander?”

“You know what I need, sir!” Alexander says. Washington continues to regard him with faint disapproval, casting a glance towards Alexander’s cock, flushed and swollen. Alexander closes his eyes in desperation. “That is, sir – please, touch me, can. May I. I’m close.” 

He’s aching to touch himself but senses that it would not be permissible; instead he digs his fingernails hard into his palms, and waits. Alexander opens his eyes, gasping, ignoring the gathering moisture of tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. In this, as in all endeavors, he must be satisfied with whatever the general is willing to give him. He would drop to his knees, suck Washington slowly to hardness again and bring him off a second time if that was what it took to earn his release. He’s shaking. As soon as he feels Washington’s warm hand enclosing him, Alexander comes with a shout which he stifles as quickly as he can. 

“Yes, Hamilton, I believe I do,” Washington says, crumpling up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it away again. “I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early. We have a war to win.”


End file.
